Thud! - Terry Pratchett [138]
“Right. And you, Detr—” Vimes looked down, and felt the bile rise. Brick and Detritus both had chains on their legs.
“You let them shackle you?” he said.
“Well, it seemed to be gettin’ all poll-itical, Mister Vimes.” said Detritus. “But say der word and me an’ Brick can have ’em off, no trouble. Dey’re only field chains. My granny could’ve bust out of ’em.”
Vimes felt the anger rising, but put a lid on it. Right now, Detritus was being rather more sensible than his boss. “Don’t do that, not until I say so,” he said. “Where are the grags?”
“They’re guarding them in another cave, sir,” said Cheery. “And the miners. Sir, they said the Low King is on his way!”
“Good job it’s a big cave, otherwise it’d be getting crowded,” said Vimes. He walked back to the captain and bent down.
“You chained up my sergeant?” he said.
“He’s a troll. This is Koom Valley,” said the captain flatly.
“Except even I could bust out of chain that thin,” said Vimes. He glanced up. Sally and Angua had regained their amour propre in their proper armor, and were watching Vimes carefully.
“Those two officers are a vampire and a werewolf,” he said, still in the same level voice. “I know you know this, and you very wisely didn’t try to lay a finger on them. And Bashfullsson’s a grag. But you put my sergeant in weak chains that he could snap with a finger so you could kill him and say he was trying to escape. Don’t even think about denying it. I know a dirty trick when I see one. Shall I tell you what I’m going to do? I’m going to give you a chance to show brotherly love and let the trolls out, right now. And the others. Otherwise, unless you kill me, I’ll poison your future career to the very best of my ability. And you don’t dare kill me.”
The captain eyeballed him, but it was a game Vimes had mastered a long time ago. Then the dwarf’s gaze fell on Vimes’s arm, and he gave a groan and took a step back, raising his hand protectively.
“Yes! I’ll do it! Yes!”
“See you do,” said Vimes, taken aback. Then he, too, looked down at the inside of his wrist.
“What the hell is this?” he said, turning to Bashfullsson.
“Ah, it left its mark on you, Commander,” said the grag cheerfully. “An exit wound, perhaps?”
On the soft underskin of Vimes’s wrist, the sign of the Summoning Dark blazed as a livid scar.
Vimes turned his arm this way and that.
“It was real?” he said.
“Yes. But it is gone, I’m sure. There is a difference in you.”
Vimes rubbed the symbol. It didn’t hurt; it was just raised, reddened skin.
“It’s not going to come back, is it?” he said.
“I doubt it’ll risk it, sir!” said Angua.
Vimes opened his mouth to ask her what she meant by that piece of sarcasm when yet more dwarfs trotted in to the cavern.
These were the tallest and broadest dwarfs he’d ever seen. Unlike most dwarfs, they wore simple mail shirts and carried one axe: one good, large, beautifully balanced axe. Other dwarfs bristled with up to a dozen weapons. These dwarfs bristled with one each, and they separated and spread out into the cavern with a purpose, covering lines of sight, guarding shadows, and, in the case of four of them, taking up station behind Detritus and Brick.
When they finally clattered to a halt, another group stepped out of the tunnel. Vimes recognized Rhys, Low King of the Dwarfs. He stopped, looked around, glanced briefly at Vimes, and summoned the captain to him.
“We have everything?”
“Sire?” said Gud nervously.
“You know what I mean, Captain!”
“Yes, but we found nothing on any of them, sire! We searched them, and we’ve gone over the floor three times!”
“Excuse me?” said Vimes.
“Commander Vimes!” said the king, turning and greeting Vimes like a long-lost son. “It is good to see you!”
“You’ve lost the bloody cube?” said Vimes. “After all this?”
“What cube would this be, Commander?” said the king. Vimes had to admire his acting ability, at least.
“The one you’re looking for,” he said. “The one dug up in my city. The one all this fuss is about. They wouldn’t throw it away, because they’re grags, right? You can’t destroy words. It